The First, The Last, The Other One
by Maple Fay
Summary: AU. Basically, my wishful thinking about the way the relationship between Lovejoy and Lady Jane should have gone.


**The First, The Last**

* * *

He kisses Lady Jane Felsham for the first time not three weeks after that day when she got him drunk on fancy champagne.

By that time, he already knows he likes her, too. She paid the bail, for one, she's witty, charming, and much more feisty than he would have expected a posh aristo chick to be. Plus, her whole physique s driving him crazy with half-repressed lust. And Lovejoy's no good at repressing his feelings.

So he kisses her, during one of his oh-so-many visits to Felsham Hall, trapping her between his body and the kitchen table. Jane's lips are soft, ripe, sweet like the first cherries of summer—and he savours the feeling of them against his own for a second or two, before a pair of surprisingly strong feminine hands pushes at his chest and shoves him away.

Jane's eyes are serious, but the way her lower lips quivers tells him she's worried, and a little bit sorry, despite her words:

"This mustn't happen again, Lovejoy. I _do_ like you, but—I've got a husband, and I've got obligations, and…"

He raises a hand, tells her it's fine, and he understands. But it's not, and he doesn't.

* * *

Lady Jane Felsham kisses him for the first time on her wide, comfy sofa, two top buttons of her blouse enticingly undone and the kiss fuelled with quiet desperation. He responds eagerly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, spreading a hand over her hip—and feels her shiver. Not with passion: than much he can tell, as clueless as he sometimes is.

So this time it's him that raises a hand to her face, caresses her neck, and pulls away despite his body creaming at his mind in frustration. "What is it, Jane? Just… tell me, alright?"

It's the first time he ever sees her cry, hot, angry tears over Alexander's lies and deceit. He holds her tight and tells her everything will be fine, although it really, really won't.

He's sure that her marriage is already on its way downhill, and doesn't change his mind even after Alexander comes back with a fairly innocent explanation. It's a divvy thing, he reckons.

Sometimes he really hates being a divvy.

Sometimes he really wishes he was wrong.

* * *

After Scotland, and Christmas, he thinks he will never get to kiss her again—and it would serve him right for everything that's happened.

But he does.

The last time he kisses Lady Jane Felsham is at the side of a road, by the taxi in which she's leaving him for what seems like forever. It should be as simple as it is chaste, but he cannot quite make himself let her go, can't unwrap his arms from around her, can't allow her to do that to him—to Eric and Tinker—to _them_…

But he does.

Because he knows that is what she needs, right now.

Perhaps she'll change her mind one day.

There's no 'divvy tingle' stirring inside him at the thought.

He still hopes she would.

* * *

The first time Jane—not Lady Felsham, not anymore, not ever again—kisses him, it feels like coming home after a long, tiring journey.

There's desperation, yes: but not like any other time, not like in Felsham Hall, or in Scotland, or on the night when she went away, taking a chunk of whatever it was that used to pass as his heart with her. There's no anger, or resentment, or blinding jealousy that might have been a key to everything, but wasn't, because… because love is not about being jealous, or angry, or disappointed. At least that's what he thinks, not having had much experience with it.

Beth is somewhere close, rattling the china in the kitchen, but Lovejoy couldn't care less. All of his attention is focused on Jane, and that's the way it should be. He holds her and breathes in the scent of her hair, her perfume—her _moisturiser_—and smiles when she twines her fingers with his, resting her forehead against the side of his face. "You're back, then?"

She raises her head and smirks at him, and he wonders if there's still any champagne left in the box she gave him as her farewell present, because he can think of a way or twenty in which he would have liked to share it with her: his Jane, Miss Jane as he calls her now, since she frowns upon the mention of Alexander's name. Just… _Jane_.

"Oh, Lovejoy. I never left."

And that, he realizes, is the truth.

* * *

The last time he kisses Miss Jane is on the stairs outside the registry office.

And he thinks that next time he will kiss her, he may not find the strength to stop.

Nor will he need to. At least not until dinner tomorrow…

**The End**


End file.
